


A Game of Chance

by beckling



Category: Death Parade (Anime)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It's not that dark I promise, Other, Prostitution, Self-Hatred, Suicide, really i... don't know what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-22 06:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckling/pseuds/beckling
Summary: A dull bartender who witnesses life from afar watches a young skater who is flooded by success on TV. They seem like two worlds apart, but then why are their lives both so similar and so unfulfilled?[A human AU that's basically my take on the show]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Human names I used:
> 
> Decim = Dominic  
> Ginti = Vincent  
> Castra = Cassandra  
> Clavis = Tim  
> Oculus = Kronos

_Researches have found that Norway and Japan are the two countries with the highest cases of depression that result in suicide. Some studies suggest that--_

Dominic zapped the TV onto the next channel. A commercial. Happy family, bright colours, pop music. Zap. Stock exchange news. Zap. Some drama he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Zap. Zap. Zap.

He never could understand why he had to do this every time he got to eat. It wasn't like he ever got any pleasure from watching TV. But there he was now, as every day, zapping away as he munched on something. He wasn't expecting it when finally something something of interest popped up on the screen. Some previews of the ice skating semi-finalists for the upcoming winter Olympics.  
  
He didn’t find this to be too boring. Sports played on ice were actually something he quite enjoyed. They reminded him of his childhood, a time lost in the mist of the past and in a faraway place. Skating all over a frozen lake while laughing with his brother Jostein on those late December afternoons in Norway, spent in the backyard of their old house, when school was over. Those were the times when he could feel free, when he could feel like...

By the way, he didn’t hate this new brand of cereals he was eating for breakfast too much. Jostein had bought it for cheap at the supermarket next door, and said something about how ‘it tasted too bland’ for him. He’d left the box on the table for Dominic to eat that morning before heading off to work, as if to say “this is for you.”  
  
There was always something his big brother didn't want that eventually became Dominic’s. Like clothing, toys, girlfriends, majors, apartments and jobs. Ah, and, of course, cereal. But it wasn’t like he minded too much. Actually, he didn't mind at all.

Dominic finished his coffee. The ice skating championship candidate from Japan was just about over with her astonishing twirls and had completely caught his attention now. Her incredible performance stunned the jury and was an obvious gold medal, even to someone as ignorant of the sport as him. Everyone acclaimed her and cheered on her, even throwing roses on the ice stage. She smiled.  
  
He usually liked these shows, mainly for the reason that people always smiled so brightly during such occurrances, while experiencing these... accomplishments. That, and only that amused Dominic, rather than the thrill of the competition or the technique behind any of those complicated movements.

On a similar degree, he was also attracted by the music that accompanied the dancers. It usually fit so nicely, so elegantly, that Dominic could not help himself but linger and watch.  
  
Music was something alluring. It caught his ear when his eyes weren’t looking, it brought him to places he'd rather be in. When he was too tired to see the passing visions of life, music pierced through and helped him be somewhere again. Maybe this only passion of his had started right during those pitch black evenings of late December, the same he remembers with nostalgia, those nights when the dark came so early and covered Norway as if to hide it from existence. And kids had to break from the illusion of freedom early on, because their mothers would call them home so soon, always too soon. The sun was never forgiving, but that old piano in his grandpa's attic knew how to soothe his pain for hours on end. He still wondered why he still hadn't taken it with him to New York after all these years.  
  
When the young female skater stopped to bow, he felt like applauding, too. There was something probably special about her, and about what she'd been doing so far. It wasn't merely dancing or competing anymore,it seemed. It was almost like Domic could feel empathy for her, and understand why she was doing this, but he couldn't really put his finger on it.

Needless to say, he found himself suddenly fascinated by her. Black hair, a body that seemed made out of wax and velvet - a bit like the dolls he liked to craft as a hobby and that his co-workers at the Casino called him weird for. Like those dolls, everything was harmonious about her, and even as she stayed still, the music lingered inside her body. Her white satin skin seemed to be made of the same material as her shiny purple dress. She smiled and smiled and smiled, from the start of the performance until the very end. And now that she was receiving a standing ovation, her smile widened impossibly so, already acknowledging victory. It was like she craved that love she was getting and would have fed on it if possible.

How could anyone smile so much? From somewhere so deep? It was puzzling to Dominic. He had never smiled like that.

He snapped out of it when he remembered his differing position and where he was. The waltz had stopped and he’d fallen into place, just like a toy is thrown back on a shelf after the magic keeping it alive ends. Before learning anything more about the skater, he turned off the TV and began heading out of his apartment.

Anyone with a little experience of how things work in New York might know Dominic's breakfast hadn’t really happened in the morning, but rather, at around 4 p.m. Outside, the sky was already turning a dark blue, and Dominic's unending night shift began early - so to speak.

He took his heavy coat and opened the door on the windy street. As he walked, he couldn't really get his mind off that skater yet. He regretted turning off the TV right before hearing her name.

He couldn’t forget, among many things about her whole appearance, the skin. It seemed as fair as that thin layer of ice she so gracefully swifted on, and yet it made her too alive - not snowy, not distant, not fake. Her smile cut through the air more powerfully than the blade of her blue skates. Her swirls reminded him of the snow that was now falling, placing itself gently on his already freezing and reddened cheeks.

Everything was graceful about her, everything, he concluded.

But something even greater about her kept his attention hooked even now that he couldn't see her anymore. What was it? An aura that engulfed her from inside and seeped so far out...

Right, he knew exactly what it was.

It was _fulfillment_.

He liked that word, and he most of all liked to wonder about what it meant, and if the people around him truly had a fulfilled life. Remembering her confident and perpetual smile, he was sure hers was an example of it. She looked beautiful. But even more than that, perfectly _fulfilled,_ accomplished. He couldn't help but admire people like that. That was it. In the end, that was always it. That was why he felt hooked.

When he finally arrived at his workplace, it was around 5 p.m. Seeing him approach still covered in snow, his boss started yelling again - as always insulting first thing first before even letting him enter.

“Hadn’t I told you to come here earlier tonight? What, were you lost in the clouds again?! You're in no position to be dilly-dallying, you hear? We have guests coming tonight, so you better start moving your ass,” he added, as he turned away: “...fucking foreigner retard.” and of course Dominic could hear him.  
  
He apologized profusely and soon got to sweeping the floor of the Casino. He knew he had to come earlier that day, and arranged to do so, but eventually that ice-skater had taken time off his head. As routine went, after the floor it was time to clean the infinite bar counter and wash the countless and variously shaped cocktail glasses he knew all by memory by now.

His boss didn't like immigrants, of any kind. They stank, they ruined jobs, they were the downfall of the country, and so on. Undoubtedly, those were just excuses to treat Dominic like something of a subhuman, even if he knew perfectly well that he had come to America when he was still very young and had worked as hard as anyone else since and payed his taxes regularly.

Henry - that was his boss’ name - spouted the same slur every time Dominic entered the bar. Important guests were _always_ coming, despite that not being true. Maybe it was intended that anyone was considered an 'important guest’ compared to Dominic. He'd caught on it pretty fast, but never said anything. He was pretty popular around the bar for his unfazed demeanor and perpetual muteness. Dominic always listened and watched, without ever replying in an impolite way to whoever addressed him.  
  
He also wasn't one to start conversations, but he was phenomenal at remembering everyone. He studied customers’ features over and over and tried to paste them into his brain's memory. It was a bit like trying to absorb them in, mentally recreating whatever life story they might have had; this would give him ease and substitute his need for socializing. Some of them would notice his blank and long stares and, slightly creeped out, would ask him to stop, but he never completely did, so eventually Henry had to threaten to fire him if he couldn’t quit it.

It wasn't like Dominic could help it. But in the end, from that day on, he adapted to faking total indifference and the inability of recalling faces. Whenever he got home, though, he would sometimes use those unique features as models to create his dolls.

After a few hours of work, the entire floor was mirror-like glistening. Dominic went to the warehouse in the back of the isle to put his cleaning tools away and eat his lunch - or the equivalent of it.

A TV was in there, too. Usually he wouldn’t go so far as to even consider it - Henry would kill him if he found out - but this time he felt somewhat brave. He instinctively turned it on and searched for the same channel from a few hours back. As he munched on his dollar store sandwich, he kept browsing. However, even after finding the channel he’d seen her in, it was natural that she wasn't on screen anymore. He uselessly hoped she would appear again, up until his lunch break was over. Only after he was done controlling every other channel just to be sure, he felt kind of sorry for his pointless behavior.  
  
What was he thinking? Of course he wouldn't have seen her ever again.

He got up, stretched his back and forgot all about it. He was used to this, so he prepared himself for another night of mixed drinks, roulette games and completely forgettable customers.  
  
As always, his life proved to be unimportant, dull and distant. Whatever could really change it? A nameless skater seen once on TV? Of course not.  
  
Dull and distant, that was the state of things for people with unaccomplished lives. That was the truth Dominic had obediently stuck to, ever since he could remember. Even if he would dream and fantasize about a different world, he knew he wasn't truly a part of it. Fulfilled and unfulfilled people: it was like two different races of humans. One played a part in the stage of life, like dolls on strings; the other simply watched and clapped their hands, in amusement and glee. What else? What else could truly break this eternal state of things?


	2. Chapter 2

Chiyuki was sprawled in her bed; replayed the scene. Over and over and over, she clicked on her remote. There it is. The jump, the fall, the crack. Click, rewind, and play. Again. She leaps, she falls, always in the same way.

Her knee is bleeding. She was still smiling in that frame, because she always smiled during performances. “It's okay, it's just a slip.” Because she is happy, even when she falls, she continues to smile radiantly. Because she can get back on her feet anytime and try again.

It was also because she really couldn't feel the pain yet. She was used to pain, so she didn't mind knowing it would come soon - stinging, slightly straining her muscles, but not severe - it did ruined the performance a bit, but she could still go on and make up for it with a move she hadn’t shown the jury yet. Getting back on your feet was the most important thing now. Yes, pain didn’t matter at all, as long as you can get back on your feet.

Chiyuki didn't want to push play again, because she knew what came next. She preferred staring at that frame with her smile from before it dawned on her that she couldn't get on her feet that time.

Mom had tried to make sure all copies of that video were unavailable to her. But even  _ she _ knew it was useless, just a mindless concern. Internet had everything, and Chiyuki could watch it on her phone or download it and masochistically rewatch the whole thing on her screen whenever she wanted.

Where did she go wrong? When? A misstep? The ice too thick, too unshaven? Her jump not high enough? The kick was a bit too lumpy and broad. Or maybe the skates - the one her parents had bought, even though it was the exact model she always wanted to have? Were they damaged? She controlled the blade infinite times since that day, but they had no scratch, no anomaly, no nothing.

What made her fall?

But there was no way she could retry that jump anyway. Why worry about it? She couldn't help it. She couldn't understand what had gone wrong.

Maybe nothing had gone wrong. Maybe it would have happened anyway, no matter what. Maybe she just couldn't be happy the way she wanted - life wasn’t allowing it. Even though she was just nineteen. Even though she was in the final qualifications for the winter Olympics. A broken knee after a jump during the very last exhibition could still happen and ruin your career - but no one had warned her about that. She still couldn't understand how complete happiness could be snatched away from someone so instantly and so brutally, with just one jump.

But she tried reminiscing the good times, too, of course. That was why, holed up in her room, she rewatched those old videos, all saved in one huge file on her disk. All the cheers, the clapping and the flowers. People coming to hug her and give her trophies. That was all recorded, too, along with her failure. As long as she lived in an eternal present that was actually only past glory, then, maybe, despite her ending--

“Chiyuki, why won't you come with me and your father to this restaurant tonight?”

“Chiyuki, I’m going to the mall, I'd need some help with something…”

“Chiyuki, your friends are organising a party next week! It’s in your honour! They sent an invitation, here...”

“Chiyuki, they gave us free tickets too--”

“GO AWAY! PLEASE!”

She'd never been so harsh to her. No, because her mother was  _ everything _ to her, all her life, her reason to be, her reason for liking ice-skating, even. But now it wasn't the same anymore. Despite how horrible it sounded, so was also the truth that lived inside her, now.   
  
Nothing mattered.

Everything was fake. Annoying. Vain. Distant. A lie. A lie. A lie. Worse, a betrayal. She wished she could avoid feeling like this - so incomplete, so bitter, so angry, so tragic. But it was already too late, depression had begun eating her whole. She saw everything through its lens, despite her best efforts to fight it. The world itself now only seemed made out of plastic: mannequins that moved all around her. And her, too, just a lifeless doll that played a stupid, predictable tale of failure, that ultimately meant nothing.

Friends? Family? _Honour?_ Whatever were those things fidgeting in front of her, whatever were those words that spilled out of them - it was all hollow, all incomprehensible.

She couldn’t understand it at all. She would keep not understanding it. She knew that, but couldn't help asking, until her head started hurting.

And she especially could not understand her own mother - why was she trying so hopelessly to make her forget so much? Her, the one who'd allowed this failure to happen in the first place, by allowing her to be born, by tricking her into enjoying life with an illusion? Couldn’t she understand that that memories was all she was left with? Memories… only continuously shattered by the dullness of the present reality with no possibility of future anymore. She was sick of it. Sick of thinking about this all day long. But it was true: with no ice-skating, she had nothing.

At times like these, she really wished she'd never been born at all.

Then one day mom came with news.

“We're going to America, Chiyuki,” she whispered lovingly, nudging at her shoulder, as Chiyuki woke up. Annoyed, she just curled further into a ball, on the bed she hadn't left in weeks. “The doctors say there's hope for your leg. They gave us an appointment.”

Almost six months had passed since the incident. Six months since her debut. Winter had passed, so the Olympics. What was the point? Was Mom really so desperate of her still not being over it? If only she knew what had been going on in her mind in those six months - things she couldn’t communicate to anybody, let alone her mother - she wouldn’t even try it.

But eventually everyone around her - those unfamiliar plastic mannequins - they'd all worked to push in some life into her own void plastic body. They didn’t understand her, but she wasn’t making an attempt at understanding their interest  either. Some little hope - probably this was the last amount she could be convinced to accept - even though she knew at this point it was just dangerously adding more layers of lies to a charade already undone.

She made that trip.

The doctors had openly admitted the operation was a shot in the dark. But of course. Anything about hope is risky. They added that to solve the problem completely there had to be a miracle, but that some athletes were able to get back into shape nonetheless. So they said, to make her feel better. Again, hope is a risky game of chance.   


Why was she even listening?

The surgery eventually had failed. Of course, only a little hope was never enough. Of course, if anything, it only made things worse.

She hadn't waited to get back to Japan to do it. She was already too tired. Hadn’t they forced her out of her shell, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Considering the amount of pain she’d been in, six months coping with apathy had been pretty impressive. With her leg still hurting from the operation, she'd crawled out of her hospital bed the night next to end it.

Dragging her stunted leg silently until she'd found some scissors, without further ado, she’d tried to kill herself just like that - cutting her doll-like wrists in her hospital room’s bathroom, and flooding the floor with her blood.

Naturally, being on constant medical surveillance was bound to make it easier to be discovered in time. They couldn’t just let her die here, not like this at least. She couldn't live how she wanted, she couldn't die how she wanted.

They'd extended her stay at the hospital - this time adding psychological checkups. They were meaningless to her, pointless. After that event Chiyuki had become impenetrable and stopped talking.   
  
Her mother was going crazy. They'd both cried, hugging each other, that night. And still, they couldn't understand each other. That was the closest Chiyuki had forced herself to be with her mother from then on. She still loved her. But she couldn’t understand anymore.   
  
It was pointless to try to understand. No one could, not even Mom. The minute Chiyuki realized that, was also when she effectively died. She knew she was dead - physical death was now secundary, a formality. It was only a matter of ceasing to exist.

A week hadn't passed, and she'd tried it again. This time, she'd found a long intravenous feeding tube and decided to strangle herself with it in the very short window of time no one was watching.

Killing yourself like that was impossible, even she knew that. But she wasn't really trying at that point, not really thinking. She wasn't really understanding. She wasn't really living anymore.

Eventually, she made herself faint.

When she woke up, at least something of her bizarre attempt had given a result. Her brain had been without oxygen long enough to give her temporary brain damage. Something risky and serious, that gave her slight amnesia and possibly other problems in the future. Not that it meant anything to her that much, but now it was even blurry figuring out why she was in the hospital in the first place. Day by day, reality slipped from her grip, and that hospital made it worse. Even when her mother and father and the hospital clerks explained it to her, it had no meaning. If only they could just let her out...

“Chiyuki… Chiyuki… Please reply… That's your name Do you remember it? Please, Chiyuki… Please…” Her mother was shaking her shoulders while repeating those empty words, her eyes what could only be described as the heartbreaking picture of sadness. And yet, Chiyuki couldn’t be struck by compassion, by repentance, because she was already gone, unseeing and unfeeling.

Had she seen that look, then maybe...

“She's in a catatonic state, m’am. We suspect some serious brain damage… I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you might have to consider sending her to another facility, a  _ neuropsychiatric one… _ where she could be better cured and monitored,” the doctors whispered in the distance.

Of course she didn't remember that name, or any name. Chiyuki? When had she been given that name? Everything was vanishing.

She didn’t know why, but she felt as if ‘Chiyuki’ wasn’t a real name. It sounded so foreign and wrong. Like it was something that was false and deceiving, something of an old lie.

The hospital put her under close observation for the time being before the following checkups. Supposedly, her ‘personality’ had changed. She wouldn’t respond to stimuli in the same ways as before, let alone recognize any of her memories and people related to her. They suspected all sorts of mental illnesses, neurological traumas, and even that she was faking it on purpose.

One night, she felt like it was too much. It felt  _ wrong _ . If there was something that hadn’t changed from after this last attempt, was the desire to be freed from that prison. She had nothing to do with that place and now not even those people.

It was strange how she’d managed to escape one night - it’d been almost too easy. Her opportunity to leave had come just like that, like someone had laid it out especially for her; without really questioning it, she took it.

Everything was still. Her own body felt like it was being dragged by invisible silk strings, out of that bed she’d wasted so much time on.   
  
“Come out. This isn’t your place. What is the purpose of staying there?” A lonely little voice seeped out of those strings that pulled her away from the sickbed. It was that of a young girl.   
  
“Who are you?” That was the first time she spoke in weeks, and so her throat hurt a bit.   
  
“Who cares? Just come out.” The voice was almost playful in a way. It came from the corridor, but she couldn’t see anyone anywhere. It soothed her, like the narration of a long forgotten fairy tale, one she loved to hear as a child.

She got out of that hospital as smoothly as dancing on ice, which even made her smile for the briefest moment. She was out on the streets of New York now, in a country she knew nothing about, without knowing anything or anyone or who she was.   
  
“Who cares? Come on out.” She repeated the words of the mysterious voice, and decided to walk out.


	3. Chapter 3

“You know what? Your face really pisses me off.”

The red-haired regular addressed Dominic, who avoided eye contact and continued cleaning the next cup.

“I mean what the fuck is your deal? You’re what, a thirty-something? And you work your ass off like a mule for a shit price in this run-down place. Hah! Maybe uncle was right. Immigrants really are just a bunch of retards.” The regular rasped a laughter. His name was Vincent, as Dominic recalled, but faked not knowing.

Vincent was also the owner’s nephew. He only showed up around closing time, usually already completely wasted, but still ready to take in some more alcohol and cause havoc. It was rare however to see him alone like this time.  
  
It might have been something running in the family’s blood, but Vincent despised Dominic and continuously tried to pick fights with him just as much as his uncle did, though more violently. And as a same learned ‘defense tactic’, Dominic paid no mind at all. Of course, he knew that his calm stance only aggravated the both of them more, but it wasn’t like he felt like doing anything different.  
  
“Jeez, look at you. I’m not even paying for this crap you call a drink and you still wouldn’t tell that to uncle, would ya? Fucking unbelievable. You’ll take just anything up your ass, even bullshitting from that old geezer. Are you sure you’re really a man? Or maybe… is it that you’re secretly a faggot?” Again he laughed at his own joke for a long minute and gulped down his last drop of gin for the night. Finally getting up, he grabbed Dominic by the collar of his shirt. His face displayed the same sullen and inebriated frown as ever. Thrashing Dominic around for a moment, he stared down his blue eyes with a disgusted grimace of superiority. Dominic didn’t move an inch, still clasping the cup and the towel in his hands, worried only they wouldn’t fall and break, as he was used to this kind of behavior from him.  
  
“People like you deserve to be taught a lesson. But the matter is, do you even ever fucking _learn_? Because you look like someone who never fucking learned how to live, despite the fact that you’re way older than me. That’s what pisses me off even more.” Vincent scrutinized the bartender's stoic face once more, then lowered menacingly the tone of his voice. “Hey, by the way… you think I'm stupid? That I don’t know you’re hiding that black-eye under that haircut? Tsk. Just how pitiful can you get?”

Vincent shoved him back with brute force, making Dominic almost crash unto the wall of bottles behind his shoulders, and sat down again. “Bah. It’s useless to fight pussies like you. You never react. Not even girls are like this. The only thing that makes you worth it is how stupid you look while playing those games.” He pointed at the casino and giggled lowly. “You look _so_ stupid, seriously, it never gets old. But hey, next time, let’s play a new game. I have a sweet idea.”  
  
Vincent was smirking now, certainly referring to the gang of misfit friends he dragged around all the time. They could be rather violent and they would never pay. Mostly, they preferred to make Dominic play ‘games’ that he would inevitably lose. It usually ended up with Dominic having to hand over all his earnings for the week as well as getting a bruises and cuts all over his body - just like it had happened last time, with the black eye, which he was still recovering from.  
  
But Dominic was used to all of this. He didn't hate this. And most of all, he didn't judge. He never _judged_ , because he was in no position to do so. Of course that was his place in the world, the only one that befitted him. He was merely an observer. Merely a man who served others. That was all that there was to it, nothing more, nothing less. Some would have found his behaviour infuriating, disheartening, and maybe even sick, but to Dominic this was normal, and even _he_ didn’t know exactly why. He’d stopped asking a long time ago. This simply couldn’t be changed, not now.  
  
In accordance to that notion, he quickly reacquired balance as if nothing had just happened and returned to his tasks without adding a word.

“Heh.” Vincent huffed, averting his eyes from the predictable scene and exaggerating a bored pose. “The game I’ve got in mind might finally put some fight in ya. Some will to live.” As he got up, he spitefully added: “... And I bet a pervert like you would even enjoy it.”  
  
On his way to the elevator, he noticed something strange peeking out from behind the counter. Tucked away on a shelf among several other bottles was a little wax doll with black hair and a purple dress.

“Hah? What is this tacky thing?” Vincent reached to examine it, idly fascinated. “So it was true! Uncle said you had a hobby or two or some shit.” He fiddled around with the doll - eyes lidded and without paying too much care. “So you really _are_ an autistic little motherfucker! Ahahaha. Creepy. But…”

Dominic opened his mouth to reply something, but ended up hesitating. Vincent didn't even notice and continued talking.  
  
“...I like this kind of stuff myself, too, you know! You wouldn’t say that about me, huh? I enjoy carving wood things with my knife. It’s… very relaxing. But this kind of bullshit you make… man, it's just an eye-sore. Nothing compared to what I can do. You’ve got no fucking talent at this, let me tell you. Let me fix this.” He clutched the doll and mimicked a throwing, though he was only joking. That's when he suddenly heard Dominic scream.  
  
“Stop! Please! I beg you!”

“...Huh? What the fuck?” Vincent scoffed, weirded out and raising an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you finally learned how to talk?”  
  
“...Please. Don’t break it. I apologize, I really do. So please, please don’t break it, I beg you.”

Vincent started laughing uncontrollably, clutching his stomach and the doll. His tipsiness had definitely decided that Dominic’s scream and pleading had to be the most hilarious thing he’d ever witnessed, and so he couldn’t help himself. Disappointed it had lasted so little and wanting to hear that priceless shout again, he finally smashed the figurine to the ground in a dramatic way, and before Dominic could even try to stop him.

But Dominic didn’t shout. He simply gasped under his breath, almost hissing in pain at the sound of the shattering; then slowly kneeled to gather the fragments scattered on the floor, eyes glued on it to find every last piece.

Needless to say, this wasn’t what Vincent was expecting.

But Dominic felt strange. Somehow paralyzed, somehow numb in shock, for reasons he himself couldn't really grasp. The feeling of defeat was different this time, it was growing bigger and bigger, without boundaries, despite the humiliation he’d endured wasn’t as deep, compared to other incidents - this sensation was truly inexplicable. This could be anger, and for a moment it had been. But something black, bottomless, had quickly swallowed it up and transformed it into something else. Only one phrase buzzed on loop in his mind, like something had broken in there just like the doll, or the flow of a record.

 _Nothing can change this. Nothing._  
  
“Tch.” Vincent spat on the doll’s remains, walking away a bit unsteady on his feet. “What, are you a kid?” He scorned, looking back before pressing the elevator's button. “Mourning on it like it’s a living thing. Please, that's not even hilarious, it's just pathetic. Clean up that mess before leaving, would ya? I'm off for tonight.”

Dominic wobbly moved out of the counter. His glassy blue eyes deepened in darkness as he recollected the pieces, trying to assemble them back in automatic motion.

But suddenly, it struck him.  
  
Why was he even doing this? Why had he recreated  _her?_ Why was he trying to piece her back together? And why had he let Vincent do this? _All_ of this?  
  
It made no sense. Nothing did.  
  
Dolls. Customers. Ice-skating. Drinks. Casino games. Henry. Vincent. Again. And again and again and again.  
  
Nothing made sense.  
  
It didn’t.  
  
Was this doll all he was left with? A completely futile object, that was bound to fall and break at his feet, with no possibility to patch it up again. It really wasn't even funny, it was just pathetic, like Vincent had said. And so much so it resembled his own life so well.  
  
Fall, fall, fall…  
  
And with no music to accompany it, where could it ever fall? He thought that, whenever he felt like falling, music could at least make him fall _somewhere,_ accompanying his movements _._ Put him in a place of ease, where even the blackest fear could be soothed and remedied. But he heard no music now.  
  
If music was everywhere and everything, the shattering of that feeble string that kept him attached to it, that led the composition of his life smoothly enough to be _bearable_ \- what could it be? What could it be?

That’s nowhere, nothingness.  
  
_Nowhere, nothingness._

_Nothingness, nothingness, nothingness…_

_Death. The death of his peace._  
  
He repeated it in his mind, but it didn’t sound like a melody. This was only death. A deep deep chasm he wished he hadn't already fallen into. Was this his fault? Had he let this happen to him? He wished he could get himself up, get it together but how? Why? Where to?

 _Nowhere, nothing, nowhere..._  
  
Right, this doll was just a hoax. A dream that could only be destroyed, a dream that turned into a soundless nightmare. The _real_ person he’d tried to reproduce was somewhere _far, far_ away, living an accomplished life, one that was very different from what he had. What was Dominic’s life? A charade. A doll-like, lifeless charade.  
  
Dull, distant, _as always_ \- that was the state of things - but that wasn't only it. Worse, he had no dignity. When had he even forfeited it, and why? He felt disgusted by himself, finally. He always believed he didn’t mind being an observer in life, that no other place was available. But why? Simply why? Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t he be happy? 

 _Why couldn't he live a fulfilled life?_  
  
This time, all these questions couldn't be kept at bay at all.  
  
This time, Dominic cried.  
  
No one could hear him in the bar, no one in the entire casino, because everyone was already gone. But he cried, and cried a lot on that lonely broken doll - believing he was that doll, believing her to be as lonely as he was. Even if he tried to fix her, she was already broken, because his illusions had died, once and for all. Being a spectator only brought him pain. Being the one to throw away the broken dolls brought him pain. He just wanted it to stop.  
  
When he’d finished all his tears, he stood up.  
  
Something had cracked in the mirror of his mind and changed the picture.

His life wasn’t merely dull and distant - of course that wasn’t only it. It was also empty. It was nothing of value.  
  
It didn’t matter. That was the other side of the stage, the truth.

Why couldn't he find any hope? This agony was the darkest hour of his life and had come so unexpectedly. Even if one last bit of hope had grazed him then, even now that he longed for it so much… he knew he had no strength to get back on his feet this time. Not this time.

Considering that wholly, he walked away. As dawn was setting and his shift had long ended, Dominic returned home. In his bag, all the pieces of the doll remained, broken. What could he do? Kill himself? Kill Vincent and Henry and even his own brother, Jostein, to compensate for all the nothingness he’d fallen into, the nothingness that had swallowed his life? On his way, however, he’d realized that that wouldn’t be enough. The death of those people, and even of himself, simply wasn’t enough to make up for this horrible thing that he’d seen. So he’d come to a decision. There wasn't an end to this death. The end of this was decided to be much less tragic, much less liberating than the simple severing of life, or worth music or theaters or mournful tears or journalists and any other meaningful thing.

The ending of all of this was in a garbage can.

He threw his hope away in the garbage can. He threw his beloved doll in the garbage can. He threw his life away in the garbage can - though he had the looming certainty that this was what he’d done already before. Had something struck him then with hope, then maybe...

But the day after, he’d thrown away all the other dolls, tons and tons of them, making a large heap in a corner of the street. People passing by were smiling, wondering what that was all about. Jostein had said something like: “If you really were so tired of them, you could’ve sold them to children or something.”  
  
But he didn’t care.  
  
His life, like those dolls, didn’t matter at all. He didn’t deserve anything - he didn’t deserve the consolation of anything, not even the stupid illusions that he could be a bystander forever and be happy with that, nor the death he longed for. Just like them, he served no real purpose. He couldn't do anything, like them. He could only be broken to pieces and thrown away in the trash, disposed of.

That was just the state of things, for people who could not accomplish their lives. He would be disposed of, too, soon. He just had to wait. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Chiyuki wandered in the city she didn't remember the name of. She didn’t know the names of the voices, the faces, the neon words and the bright colors and the passing of cars. She didn’t know the name of anything.

And still, somehow, this could only fit.

It fit with her own chaos. She knew no place in the world, no name, no language and no person. No difference between this or that. Truly, she was completely lost.

But one thing she did notice, out of all the incomprehensible swarm of life around her: she liked this, she liked wandering. She liked not knowing anything, not going anywhere, not living. It felt like utter freedom, like she needed nothing more than herself. It even made her happy, swallowed like that by a crowd who knew nothing of her as much as she knew of herself or _anything_ really. It put her at ease like a primordial state of nothingness and unaccomplished possibility she could regress into. So she continued walking. And walked and walked and walked, until eventually she got hungry.

It was uncanny how easy it’d been to scavenge food and money in that city, just like getting out of that hospital had been. That girlish voice wasn't guiding her anymore, but it would still just happen that she had some money in her pajama’s pockets. Who’d put that there? Likewise, she'd found a handful of dollar bills onto the sidewalk, or on top of a greasy washing machines in a laundromat, or tucked under the seats in all-night diners - enough to buy the minimum to stay alive, at least. No one seemed to care about her or be searching for her, not even her parents. Sleeping on benches wasn’t so uncomfortable in this weather, as long as she could use the blanket she’d conveniently found in the trash, and it seemed like nobody could even see her, as no one ever talked to her for more than a few seconds, and if they did, only to offer her things, without asking. The people in this city were always busy and strange. But without much caring, she'd accept all these mysterious offers from Lady Luck, and this went on for about three days, in which Chiyuki could not have discerned whether she was sleepwalking or not.

Eventually, though, something happened that was quite different from the rest she’d seen.

She was strolling in a park - her hospital pants ragged and flinting under the coat she’d found in the abandoned car she now slept in. It was a nice day out, the snow melting and the temperature rising slightly, as spring was now definitely on the way.

There she found it today again. On a faraway bench half hidden by the willow trees near the lake, something that looked like wrapped food sat lonely and inviting. Chiyuki approached it and after calmly sitting beside it, she opened the wrapping and started eating.

A voice came shouting behind her soon after: a woman in eye-catching and skimpy clothes came out of a bush, seemingly enraged.

“Heeey! What the hell do you think you’re doing to my food?! Don't even think about running away!” She dashed at an incredible speed towards Chiyuki - who began feeling very scared - and snatched the food away from her.

“I-I’m sorry…” was all Chiyuki had managed to mumble in broken English, as she bowed instinctively.

“Are you a foreigner? Don’t you know in this country you don’t just go and steal other people’s food? Jeez… Can’t take my attention off for a second...”

As Chiyuki repeated the bow many times, she caught a closer glimpse of the woman’s attire. Her skin was darkish and it made a good contrast with her blonde curls, adjusted on her head with a headband. Her bright white coat was completely made out of fur and it looked rather cozy and warm. It opened messily at her chest now, only to show an extremely short black dress underneath, that exposed much of her heavily embroidered bra. She had nothing to cover her legs, other than some high heeled boots that almost reached her knee. To complete the attire, a small gold purse dangled on her left shoulder.

“So? What are ya staring at? Get the fuck away from here, it's _my_ spot! Don’t ever show up again, okay?” She spat bread crumbles from her glossy fuchsia lips, as Chiyuki stepped away.

Even if this had never happened before, maybe it was bound to, Chiyuki pondered. It wasn’t reasonable for her to continue like this forever. Maybe she had to find something like a job soon, if she wanted to eat. With these thoughts in mind, she started making her way to the sidewalk again, but was promptly stopped by another woman who stood in her way with a hand on her hip, a few steps away.

“Haah? Fifi, what’s going on? I heard you shouting. Was another client being a prick again?”

Still munching, the woman behind Chiyuki sluggishly replied. “None of your business, skank. Stop calling me Fifi, I told ya my name is _Fiona_!”

"Sure thing, girl," whoever this person was, she'd instantly dismissed the other only to dedicate her complete attention to Chiyuki; tongue clicking on a blue lollipop as it passed from one cheek to the other. "Name's Cassandra. Or at least, that's what I go by. Sorry if Fifi caused you trouble. Your face doesn't look very familiar though… Are you a new one?"

Chiyuki could sense an expectant tone in her voice, maybe alluding at something.

The most captivating thing about this woman who called herself  'Cassandra' was definitely the way she ogled at things. Was she even blinking? She seemed to be scrutinizing Chiyuki's very soul, with those eyes wide open - the color of her iris clear green and visible even from a long distance.

Her skin was slightly lighter than the other woman's and it barely stood out from the nude-grey shirt she was loosely wearing as a sort of dress, buttoned up halfway and showing collarbone and shoulders. A broad blue tattoo was on her chest - a constellation? Chiyuki didn't really know what to make of it. Another striking and unmissable feature was the short straight hair, dyed in a shade of acid green. She sported heavy jewelry and pink heeled sandals. Despite the temperature still lingering somewhat low, she didn't seem to be affected by the cold at all.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

"It's useless I told ya. I don't think she can even speak English. Probably a foreigner." Fiona said, finishing her lunch and still eyeing Chiyuki in a bad way.

"Is it true? Can you understand what I'm saying?"

Chiyuki glanced up shyly and replied, despite really wanting to go away. "Some of it."

Cassandra scratched the back of her head and looked around in thought.

"This is bad, Cass. Better not get involved with--" Fiona started, but was interrupted.

"Hey, what's that you’re called?"

"...I don’t know. People called me Chiyuki."

Fiona shook her head, dropping her shoulders.

"Chiyuki," repeated Cassandra, her voice hinting at a welcome, but her eyes flashing as sharply as before. "Where are you from, Chiyuki?"

"I don’t know that either."

Was there somewhere Chiyuki was supposed to be from? She really couldn't understand the question. Lowering her brow to the ground, her stomach made a loud sound. Fiona was now lighting up a cigarette far away, still half-curious about the situation but feigning indifference. Right at that moment, the sky was getting cloudy from west, and a thunder approached. Some droplets of water started to fall.

"Aw shit!" Fiona shouted louder than necessary; protecting the cigarette to the cost of burning her hands.

"Was that growl just now your stomach, Chiyuki?" Cassandra finally joked and cracked a smile, landing a hand on Chiyuki's shoulder. "Whatever. If you're hungry I can share my lunch with you." She took a better look at Chiyuki's tattered clothes and started brushing away a stain. "We might get you something else to wear, how about that?"

"Cass, don't even think about fraternizing with her! For all we know this is a slut who got her head banged so hard she forgot everything! Or maybe a kidnapped girl for some sicko to enjoy. This bitch is only bringing me bad luck today, ugh!" Fiona gave up on lighting up her damp cigarette and threw it on the muddy ground.

"No one asked for your opinion, Fifi. Besides, didn’t you have some blowjob to do elsewhere?"

"Tch, fucking bitch. I’m going to the subway. Don't you fucking dare follow me!"

Pinning her white coat on her head as an impromptu umbrella, she ran away clumsily.

Cassandra barely paid any mind to her and shifted yet again to Chiyuki.

"Hey, can you walk fast? We better get going, too,” she pointed at the sky. Still somewhat hesitant, Chiyuki realized this was the first person who’d acknowledged her in days, and the offer of food wasn’t one she could really decline now.

The streets were rather empty at that time of the day and with that weather. As Chiyuki followed, Cassandra did the talking.

"So, Chiyuki, do you know where we are?"

"We’re… we’re in a big city?"

"That’s right.” Cassandra chirped, finding that very humorous. “And do you know what day it is today, Chiyuki?"

"Not really."

"Month?"

"Around... March, I think."

Cassandra slowed down, as if having confirmed something. She turned around, a serious but gentle aura on her.

"And how long has it been March for, Chiyuki?"

The strange question had come rather suddenly, and Chiyuki felt as if it had broken something, a thin, thin veil covering the truth - but under it were only more veils to be found. She could understand there was something behind this uncanny woman and her questions.

"I... really have no idea about that."

Cassandra took her hand and said:

"It’s okay. We're almost there anyway."

The two stopped in front of the entrance of a hotel after walking a short while. The neon signboard glimmered particularly well over that gloomy atmosphere.

“ _Para...de Hotel Casino_ …?” Chiyuki read with a bit of a slur - she wasn’t used to reading English out loud. Two neon letters weren’t glowing - but she noted that down too late and so she hadn’t pronounced them. Now she couldn’t really make out the sense of it. Overall, the building itself seemed way too spacious and luxurious to be facing such a narrow and forgotten dead end of the road. She cast a doubtful look at Cassandra, who returned it jokingly.

“Oh, it’s read: _Paradise_ Hotel Casino,” she finally corrected. “The ‘i’ and the ‘s’ break all the time, no matter how many times they come to repair it. I suppose ‘Parade’ is how it has to be. It really is just an endless parade of nameless faces in there, after all.”

Cassandra smiled brightly.

“I’ve got some friends in there, so don’t worry, Chiyuki. Let’s go in now.” Again with that indecipherable, protecting aura about her, like a big sister, or a friend who always knew better. Cassandra headed in first, as sliding doors opened in front of her, and without waiting a second for Chiyuki.

A bit overwhelmed, Chiyuki finally resolved to do the same. And just like that, she’d put her first step in Parade Hotel.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"March is always rainy, isn't it?"

Tim, the elevator boy, had commented out of nowhere after a while that Dominic had entered the elevator. Dominic couldn't recall ever talking to him outside of that cabin, but somehow he knew they were similar. Just like him, Tim spent most of his time in a fixed place, unthinking and vacant, only blurting out premade phrases. His expression was perpetually the same, a welcoming grin that everyone knew was fake.

But tonight Tim was providing a right remark, so Dominic had to nod in agreement. It really had been raining non-stop ever since March had started. In fact, he’d had to spend extra hours cleaning the dirtied windows every other day.

On such a night, Dominic's shift had just ended. Customers had left earlier than usual because of the upcoming storm, and so the casino was atypically deserted. Without all the chatter and the gnashing sound of slot-machines being used, the faraway thunders and the raindrops tapping against the windows were now very clear and audible.

Before Tim could press the button for the ground floor as usual, Dominic stopped his hand.

"Please, take me to the basement."

"Hm? The basement?" Tim's smile was still perfectly in place as he moved his finger just slightly lower.

The question was futile at best, and taunting at worst. He knew exactly where Dominic was going and for what purpose. Maybe he just wanted to hear Dominic say something about it. Useless. What was he supposed to say, especially now? The state of things was decided.

Tim's grin almost ridiculed him and said, "are you sure about this?" but his lips never moved.

And then it crossed Dominic's mind, that maybe this was the last time he’d get to talk to him. Unless Tim decided to get involved, too. But it was unlikely.

Tim was an ex-drug addict. Apparently this job was a requirement given from his rehab counselor, but maybe he was still shooting up in those moments no one could see him in between shifts - who knew, he was especially good at concealing it now. Nobody thought it was really worth checking.

He had one of the most provocative and strange hairstyles Dominic had ever seen. Spiky green hair streaked with neon yellow on the left side, with bright pink sidecuts. His ears were completely pierced with earrings and his nose, too.

Tim seemed to know a lot about what went on inside Dominic’s head, and yet he’d never spoken out loud, until this day. Maybe he sensed it, too, that this was the last they’d see each other.

“Hey, Dominic. Do you ever catch yourself thinking… that the fall isn’t so bad?” In the muffled silence of that half-broken cab, they were descending at such a slow speed that Tim’s words felt rather suspended, too.

“The fall?” Dominic was obliged to ask, though not very interested.

“Yes, the fall! The falling of rain, the falling of an elevator, the falling in love with someone, even the falling of someone that you wish you could save… oh, the falling in your dreams, also, when you think you will die but then you wake up…”

Dominic had no idea Tim could talk so much and about things that had so little meaning. This was a first.

“The fall is more exciting than the high, is what you’re trying to say?” Dominic absently remarked. Even though he told himself he wasn't getting this, he definitely did, and that was why he could reply like that.

Tim chuckled - maybe because he’d entered Dominic’s head yet again. He then decided to add:

“Oh... I can swear it on my life, the fall isn’t worth the high. At all. But it’s something to experience. Something inevitable. Rather poetic, don’t you think? Because, you’re going there willingly, aren’t you? So I was wondering, why? Do you like it? Is it too pushy for me to ask?”

“Maybe you should know that already. You went there willingly, too, didn’t you?” It was exactly because of the fall that Dominic was acting so spontaneous, so unforgiving, making him reply with the things he wouldn’t have otherwise. Everything was definitely falling loose now.

Tim kept his words for a moment. Dominic couldn’t have seen this, but his ever-knowing, ever-gentle smile had vanished.

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t.” He chirped, and yet sounded so hollow.

“Then I guess I’m the same. I wouldn’t say I’m going there willingly, either.”

They stayed silent until they were almost at their destination, soon to depart. Tim had one last thing to say.

“As long as we’re here, though, we’re not really anywhere, are we? That’s what I’m trying to say.” He brought his mild smile back. “We’re quite literally suspended in air, neither up or down. Wouldn’t you want a moment like this to last?”

“Would I? It’s all the same to me.” The doors opened with a small tune. As Dominic without further ado got out, he said: “Besides, we’ll reach our destination, eventually. And that’s going to be the end, right?”

The other man stayed in place, mildly shocked by that reply. Dominic muttered a half-hearted “goodbye, Tim” before starting to walk away. When the doors closed, Tim couldn't help but echo a sad “Farewell, Dominic.”

 

 

The basement was stashed with tons of boxes and other miscellaneous utilities, but it still had a lot of room to spare. It would have felt empty, hadn’t it been for the distinct buzzing of group chatting from a distant corner, a dim lamp creating light in the windowless ambient, and the cloudy smoke.

The laughter grew louder as Dominic slowly walked near the source. Suddenly he was blasted by Vincent’s voice.

“Fucking finally! What took you so long?”

“I had to fulfill some errands.”

“Seriously?! We’ve all been waiting here!” There was an attempt at a lighthearted tone, but that underlying maliciousness was impossible to mask. Vincent was clearly tipsy, but not as much as the other night. Maybe he wanted to stay lucid for what would come next.

That’s when Dominic quickly glanced at the other people there. Four of Vincent’s friends were sprawled on a crummy couch in the back, two of which were snorting cocaine on a wooden box used as a table. One half-hidden guy was standing in a corner and smoking; when he saw Dominic he immediately started blurting out slanders.

“Hey, where did your junkie friend go? Should have brought him, so we could have some good old times together.” The others hearing this agreed and snickered, pushing Dominic for an answer. He assumed they were referring to Tim.

“He’s just finished his shift.”

A long disappointed “Awww” followed. Vincent then approached him acting friendly.

“Don’t be shy like that when you’re with us, come on! How many times do I have to tell you you can relax here? See? You can even take something.” He pointed at the stash of cocaine his friends were taking using, but Dominic declined even though he knew that would infuriate Vincent.

Before Vincent could hit him, someone came out of the shadow and pounced at Vincent’s back, violently hugging him from behind and shouting.

“Vinnieee! I’m so bored!”

Dominic didn’t know who this girl was, but judging from her behavior, she was probably his new girlfriend. She wailed for a bit about having nothing to do and wanting to go home, but Vincent reassured her.

“Don’t worry, Maya, we’re gonna watch a nice show tonight. I’ve prepared something special. Something we haven’t tried before.”

And that’s when he pulled out a handgun from his pocket. No one had noticed he was carrying anything like that, so many of them gasped. Dominic slightly widened eyes for a moment, a physiological response to danger, but for the rest, he had a hunch from the beginning about this. Vincent started waving it around like it was a toy - it was, in fact, going to be used like that, shortly. Vincent’s girlfriend, Maya, made a shrill noise that was neither scared neither excited. It sounded more like what a monkey would shout in a moment of surprise. Soon after, everyone else in the room did something similar, letting intrigue give in to shock and giggling at Vincent’s gimmick, somehow trusting their drunk friend with a gun.

“You’re crazy, man!”

“Yeah, you’re fucking crazy, Vinnie.”

Everyone agreed, but before they could comment on how dope his gun looked or ask him where he’d got it from, Vincent addressed Dominic again by pointing the gun straight at his forehead.

“Now, I’ll explain to you what the game for tonight’s gonna be. It’s simpler than the others, really. All you have to do is pull the trigger at yourself after I roll the barrel.”

Hearing those words, everyone fell mute and whispered “what?” and “this can’t be real” to each other for a second, before realizing the greatness of Vincent’s idea and cheering for it, chanting “russian roulette!” on end. It was like no matter what Vincent would do to Dominic, they would always find it justifiable. Only Maya seemed slightly bugged by this idea, but seemed too numb at the same time to really oppose it. So was the case for many of the people who weren’t cheering, slightly more sober than Vincent and the others who were causing a fuss, and looked at each other with expectant and doubtful eyes, wondering how serious Vincent was with all of this.

“I’ll offer you a bet, Dominic, because I think you’re a very special friend to all us.” Vincent continued, trying his best to conceal his exaltation. “If you don’t do it, we’ll stop these games. We won’t come to the bar anymore. We won’t order drinks from you without pay for them, and If one of my friends come here and bother you, I’ll smash their faces in. And hear this, I’ll even give you the money I took from you last week. Doesn’t this sound awesome? But if you do it, I’ll take it as you refusing to become a real man, everything will stay the same, and I will still punch your face in, I will still take your money, even if a bullet comes through your skull, I’ll make sure you’re never found, and trust me, I know how to do that. I bet on you doing it. Wanna know why?”

His friends couldn’t understand the strange rules Vincent was declaring. Wasn’t Dominic supposed to do it no matter what? What kind of mind games was Vincent trying to pull?

Dominic observed him vacantly, and didn’t reply to Vincent’s last question.

“Because I know you, silly! But hey, I still want to be fair, so consider this: all you have to do is simply say no. What do you say?”

Again, a long silence from Dominic - but Vincent could sense that something was wrong about him, something was different. His stare wasn’t fixed on the ground or on nothingness, but instead it deeply scooped out Vincent’s pupils. For an instant, Vincent thought he might actually refuse the game.

At last, Dominic said something, almost inaudible to everyone in the room except Vincent.

“What is the point?”

Vincent rolled his eyes.

“Want me to re-explain it to you? It’s about proving whether or not you’re alive. What’s so hard to get?”

“Whether or not I choose to refuse or accept, nothing’s really going to change for me. If I refuse, I won’t feel alive. If I accept, I won’t feel alive. I don’t need a test.”

Vincent felt now incredibly angry, though he didn’t know exactly why.

“I’m giving you an opportunity, can’t you see? You’re throwing it away.”

“Maybe you need to do these things in order to feel alive, not me. Maybe you need this test. I wonder why.”

Enraged, Vincent, who had lowered the gun in the meantime, pointed it up again and said:  
  
“Maybe, but that’s none of your business. Tell me your final decision.”

Dominic fixed down the barrel of the gun that was eyeing him and saw in it a pitch black nothingness that lovingly sucked him in. He felt a kinship with it ever since that day. But even though he truly believed that either choice was equal, he still wondered about what to do. Continuing this dull, meaningless life or not, it was all the same. Then what made him choose, in the end, to do it?

After Dominic consented, Vincent laughed and shouted “I knew it!”

“I’ll tell you something, Dominic.” Vincent opened the barrel, which revealed to be empty, and showed it to him. “I was planning to give you a gun with a defective bullet in it. That’s because I actually didn’t want you to die. See?” He put the defective bullet in and shot until the gun jammed repeatedly and couldn’t get it out. Vincent then reopened it and threw it away. “But I realized something after what you said, Dominic. You really aren’t worth even that much concern. Maybe your philosophy isn’t something I can really change. And you don't really care. So why bother? I think it’s fairer to do this the normal way.” He took some real bullets from his back pocket and put a bunch of them inside, then fired one after the other in the direction of a crate to show it was real. The shot pierced everyone’s eardrum and made almost everyone cover their ears, except for Dominic and Vincent. “Now, there’s no going back. You’ve accepted this, so the least thing you can do is go all the way through.”

Every single one of Vincent’s friends was scared now and reluctant to see this kind of show anymore. They tried to change his mind.

“Come on, Vinnie... What if he shoots us?”

“He doesn’t have the balls to do that. Besides, I have another gun, just in case. I’ll shoot him if he tries anything. We’ll tell everyone he had come to threaten us.”

Everyone felt a chin run up their spine. Was Vincent... actually being serious? Committing murder in front of them. What was his problem? Maya grew anxious and clung to his sleeve, wailing like a child:  
  
“But you can’t do this,Vinnie! You'll get in trouble! What if he… what if he…”

“Dies? And what’s the problem with that? It’s going to be a suicide.”

Still unsure and tense about this, everyone stopped talking when they saw Dominic take the pistol from Vincent’s hand and point it at his own head. Now, even Vincent’s heartbeat raced up, and his breath was on hold.

But none of that applied to Dominic. Maybe he wished it did. But no one who points a gun at himself with such straightforwardness and simplicity ever feels that way. And that was disappointing.

“I think you already won this bet, Vincent That’s why I said it held... no meaning. There was no need to do this for me, but you handed me a gun... Maybe because of that, it’s your fault, too.” Dominic wondered if he should thank him at this point. He was about to, but then changed idea, since it really didn’t matter. “My life was an unfulfilled one. It isn’t worth even redemption, I believe. So I thought you should know that, at least.”

Vincent’s eyes widened imperceptibly as he realized his mistake when it was too late. Horrified by those ominous, surreal words, his face dropped in dismay and his hand stretched out on its own to stop him.

“It’s just a game of chance after all.”

On the early morning of March the 23rd, birds were frightened by a loud sound, but not long after, they resumed singing their old song, the one that every morning invites a new sun to arise.


	6. Chapter 6

Enveloped in a dry and cozy vest and with her stomach now pleasantly full, Chiyuki was sitting in the lobby’s lounge next to Cassandra, who had just returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. The stranger woman kept on scrutinizing Chiyuki from across the table, eyes glued open, while slowly sipping her hot drink . Her hands were very muscular and veiny, with tons of rings and bracelets clinking against the porcelain mug. Chiyuki couldn’t help but notice her long painted nails and wonder what sort of person she was. Being more at ease around her now than shortly before, she ventured a question.

“What is… that you do here, miss Cassandra?” She tried to find the right words, and felt quite content with the result of her pronunciation, though her shyness kept her tone still very low.

“Hm? Oh my, aren’t you curious.” She put down the cup placing it at the center of the table, like wanting to present a fact. “Let’s say, it’s where I meet my clients most of the time. The people here are my friends, so they don’t mind.”

Chiyuki didn’t blink at the response and had to wonder what this hotel could be really about.

The lobby had been deserted since they’d arrived, so it was hard for Chiyuki to figure out exactly who these ‘friends’ were. The city itself had seemingly shrunk in the last few days; people were getting harder to find, like some strings were pulling them away from earth. Maybe it was just an illusion, but then again, Chiyuki had no means to confirm it. All in all she only had her sensations now to rely on on what reality was or wasn't. No memories of the past, no common sense. All she saw was an unknown city floating trapped in a bubble of fog, where the citizens were just light refractions and the horizon far too impenetrable. Maybe Cassandra was the only one here who could help her figure out anything at all.

“But more about you. What are _you_ doing here, Chiyuki? Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

“I… I just have this _feeling_.”

Cassandra’s dull stare instantly flickered when she heard that.

“Hm. A feeling you say?”

“A feeling that I’ve had for a while. A feeling that I’ve already died.”

Cassandra’s interest was now reaching its maximum peak, but she tried not to show it. “And how so?”

“I don’t know… I wouldn’t say I physically died. I was in a hospital bed, but then…”

After a while of Chiyuki’s reticence, Cassandra’s mouth winced and realized she wouldn’t get any more information than this from her, since Chiyuki was already losing concentration and staring into void space. She put a kind hand on the girl’s shoulder and said that it was okay.

“I want you to meet my friends, Chiyuki. There’s lots of things we can do here - you won’t get bored.”

Again her quirky and cunning smile. Chiyuki somehow felt relieved by it, that she didn’t need to explain anything more, since she herself had no idea where to begin. And so, she agreed to follow her in the direction of the elevator, without a question. But before they could leave with it, someone got out from a faraway door, which made a loud creaky sound.

“Oh, hello there, Nonnie.” Cassandra absent-mindedly greeted after she noticed her.

“Hi, Cassandra,” said the person.

Chiyuki was rather surprised by her. Was she an actual kid? The two women forgot about the elevator and directed their attention to the child, who advanced towards the reception desk, shrewdly smiling.

“Who is that person with you over there?”

“Someone you might want to meet.”

Nona seemed to understand and her eyes lit up.

“Oh. Then, my name is Nona. You can ignore any nickname Cassandra might want to give me.” She pointed at her chest and made Chiyuki instantly feel at ease with that joke. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, and lazily propped her chin up now on the desk she leant on. “And what is your name?”  
  
“It’s… It’s Chiyuki.”

“Well, Chiyuki. Welcome to Parade Hotel Casino. Come on in and enjoy yourself! We have all sorts of entertainment and comforts here, for as long as you want, all night, all day, and for a moderate price.” She giggled and shot a glance at Cassandra. “Hey, how did I do?”

“I guess fine enough, for a new employee.”

Chiyuki was mesmerized by this bizzarre girl’s childish voice speaking so properly and intelligently, all coordinated with her adult manners, despite her body being that of a ten-year-old. Who was she?

 _“Come on in…”_ She’d just said. And that sorting of words felt strangely familiar; the same voice, too. But Chiyuki couldn’t remember from where it was, no matter what.

“Parade… Hotel.” She mumbled.

“Oh, right, sorry. It’s _Paradise_ Hotel, not Parade. I keep on forgetting that. My bad!”

“ _Paradise_?”

“Yep, you heard it. Anyway, I’ve never seen you anywhere before in these parts. Are you Cassandra’s friend? Or are you here as a customer?”

Cassandra chimed in.

“Let’s say she’s... both things. She doesn’t have a place to stay for the moment, so do you mind if…?”

“Why not. I don’t think any higher-up will complain. But she’ll have to work here eventually if she wants to stay for more than one night. We _are_ one casino hostess short ever since Quinn decided to switch to management.”

“Right, she won’t stop complaining about it all the time.”

Cassandra gawked at Chiyuki. “Then it’s settled.” She expected a positive answer, but instead was met with an averted gaze by Chiyuki. It wasn’t like Chiyuki could really protest, or wanted to. She was absurdly drawn to this place. But she still wasn’t all that convinced. She still felt so weird, especially after seeing that girl. Her tongue had died in her mouth. Certainly this was the only ‘alive’ place for miles around, with people willing to talk to her. Even if she could’ve refused, there wasn’t a better choice. Chiyuki vaguely nodded at the other when she couldn’t stand her staring anymore.

Nona lifted the phone receiver and started dialing up a number. “I’ll inform boss about this. In the meantime you can give her a tour of the facility and show her to her room, Cassandra.” The girl fumbled with a big box filled with room keys and grabbed one at random, then extended it politely to Chiyuki.

Hotel room number 1009.

Cassandra peeked at it and commented: “It’s on one of the highest floors and it’s pretty spacious. You’ll like it! But first, let’s get to the casino. That’s where you’ll work.”

Calling the elevator, it didn’t take long for it to arrive. Meanwhile Nona had ended her brief conversation with the boss and was seeing them go. But when the brass doors opened, it seemed that someone was already in there.

Leaning against the mirror wall, a tall woman with pale skin and short brown hair was drooling all over herself in half-sleep. A bottle of red wine was threatening to slip from her hand at any time and stain her already tattered grey coat. All in all, her appearance was unkempt and it suggested that she needed a bath. When the ping tune of the doors opening woke her up, she was startled by the sight of Cassandra and Chiyuki, like they still belonged to some strange dream she was having a moment ago.

Cassandra, who treated the scene as nothing out of the ordinary, pointed at her and said: “Oh, right, this is Quinn. Don’t be too put off, it’s normal for her to be drunk around this time of day. Say hi to Chiyuki, Quinn sweetheart.”  
  
“Huh? Oh. Hi…?” It didn’t seem like Quinn was going to muster much else, but nevertheless she tried to welcome Chiyuki. She then awkwardly leaned on to whisper to Cassandra, but her drunkenness made it hard to keep the volume down, so that Chiyuki could hear everything anyway.

“Who is this? I had no idea you did women too now. What… what about me, Cass?"

“It’s not like that, Quinn. She’s just a guest. She’ll be working here for a while, too.”

“Oh. You mean as…”

“As a _hostess_ , Quinn. She’ll take on the job you left.”

“Ah. I see.” Quinn seemed rather disappointed, and chugged down another gulp again. Getting reminded of her last job only made her depressed. “A newcomer, huh? Well, we always need more of you anyway. This thing has unending storeys, didn’t you know?”

Cassandra ignored her completely futile remark and asked something else: “Hey, where did Tim go?”

“Huh? Him? Oh… No idea. Maybe boss needed him.”

“Alright, honey. Don’t trip on the carpet like last time.” Waving goodbye to Quinn and Nona, Cassandra prompted Chiyuki to follow her inside the lift. She was always so direct and straightforward that it was hard to adjust to her speed. Before Chiyuki could obey, she was called by Nona by her name.

“Chiyuki, have fun. This is definitely your place now!” She giggled. Her pearly skin and teeth, icey eyes and silvery hair tied in a long tress - it all reminded Chiyuki of something familiar, of a deep ominous threat, or maybe not. Images of wax dolls and silk strings flooded her mind, hypnotising her, and this strange being called ‘Nona’ definitively stopped feeling human right then.

 _‘Definitely your place now’…?_  
  
Why did this sound so fitting to her context? Like the exact kind of thing she wanted to hear? How did… ‘Nona’ know?

But Cassandra was urging her to get in. The unsettling phenomenon had ceased like that, and so Chiyuki hastily bowed to Quinn, then to Nona and erased it from her mind. As Quinn continued to down her red wine sprawled over a comfy armchair, the other girl sweetly waved and observed. She then added, just in time so that Chiyuki could faintly hear:

“Don’t worry, Chiyuki. Everything will start making sense soon.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What were you thinking, Vinnie? This is all your goddamn fault!”

His friends were all mounting on their motorbikes now, filling the night sky with the rumbling roar of their bursting engines. He, too, was contributing to the ruckus by sprinting way too fast for his tires to creak. On the streets, it was so hard to hear what they all had to say, but he assumed they were all a variant of that first terrified shout, followed by countless insults and imprecations.

The night was now lighting up into morning, as normal as could be, while his hands on the handlebar trembled violently and started to freeze with the cold wind. Was he too cold or too scared? Vincent was sure that he was in shock, but the dissociation kept him from truly grasping it.

Maybe he should have stayed there; and maybe he would have, if Maya hadn’t started crying so loud. She wanted to go home, she said. All the others were panicking too. They got away without thinking twice. So what else could have he done but follow them? He was already several miles away from uncle’s hotel now - too far away. Maya clutched around his waist tightly, trembling all over and crying. That was when Vincent noticed that his driving abilities were getting severely impaired, either by the alcohol or by the adrenaline. It was useless, he couldn’t keep a straight line on the road. Even so, he couldn’t make himself slow down or stop at all, he just needed to keep going.

Keep going. Just keep going. There was nothing else he could do or wished to do. His mind was like stuck on a loop. It kept repeating and rearranging the same words, the ones he’d just heard from _him_.

 _My life was an unfulfilled one,_ he'd said.

The asphalt glistened incredibly. Melting frost, or maybe something about the last bright stars that shimmered down on it, and maybe his eyes seeing stars, too, from being too tired - yeah, it all twinkled down the pitch-black cement.

 _It isn’t worth even redemption,_ he'd said.

Vincent's heart raced and tightened in a knot, sending pangs of pain to the rest of his body; his liver, too, hurt like being pierced by needles. He wanted to puke, but it only got stuck midway right about at the start of his esophagus. Now he could see clearly all the lampposts shutting down one after the other, beautiful like the last thing you see when the show is over, as an orange and pink dawn began to rise up and away in the horizon - the sun was farther away than anyone could see.

_I thought you should know that, at least._

_Maybe this was your fault, too._

_It’s just a game of chance, in the end._

Bang.

And then they were all screaming.

But something was pulling at his arms right now, distracting him; from behind, someone pulled hard, and was screaming now like then, too, but more desperately.

From the isolated silence he’d fallen in, from the wind that clogged his eardrums and chilled his unhelmeted head, he heard a voice pierce through.

Maya? What did she even want? What could she…

Oh, right. He hadn’t noticed. They were now about to collide with a truck, head-front, racing at an unstoppable speed. The headlights were bright, as bright as ever, and yet they couldn’t alert him. Even if the horn was exploding in  his ears, making it impossible to hear what Maya was saying anymore, he couldn’t hear. If he heard a voice, it was that one.  _Just a game of chance..._

He swerved, but the ice underneath his wheel was too thick and slippery. In an instant, the bike flipped back and fell on its side, inevitably getting hit then by the truck, which had tried its best to avoid the crash. The motorbike had been immediately destroyed, reduced to a lump of melted tires and metal. Vincent and Maya were both lying helplessly on the ground now, among the fuming scraps, a few feet away from each other, all tossed away by the horrible impact.

He was thrown into the most atrocious pain he’d ever experienced in his whole life, and all in a matter of seconds so fast that his brain couldn't even register it at first. It came as a wave only later, that made him wish he'd died instantly. His legs were broken and gushing blood out, thigh bone sticking out of his gutted flesh; his cranium was soaking his brain with waves of dark blood that made him see weird lights and shapes everywhere, colors that made no sense, as it was hard to move any muscle. Even so, he wanted to keep conscious, the shock preventing him to faint, and his mouth desperately gasped for air.

The truck had halted completely its course a few yards away. From a close distance, a small group of Vincent’s friends had stopped by, having realized what had just added to the recent tragedy. They were horrified but didn’t stick for too long, of course, and soon abandoned the scene. Vincent could've screamed for help, but he thought that maybe he deserved being abandoned by them. Were they even his friends? They only would hang around for cocaine and free drinks. And now they were already leaving...

He put his last energies into dragging himself closer to Maya. He needed to check if she was still alive, even if he was losing all his blood in doing so, even if the last scrap of consciousness was slipping away from him despite his best efforts, he needed to make sure he hadn’t killed yet another person tonight.

Maya’s body was facing downwards, her limbs sprawled disorderly. Her still clenching hands were unmoving. Vincent was twitching all over and could barely keep himself propped up with one arm, the only one that he could move forward without feeling pain. He snuggled against her and flipped her to face the sky. He called her name many, many times, in a low voice that was the best he could muster. She wouldn’t reply, she couldn't, but her eyes were open and filled with tears and dots of blood that felt accusing and cursing.

Vincent hissed in pain then and collapsed beside her like a heavy boulder. She was dead - his ear on her nose couldn't perceive any breath, her wrist had no pulse.  
  
All the while his breath was growing wild and his reality stopped working or making sense once and for all. The adrenaline for the awareness that he was dying, the difficulty of piecing every event together, the bitter feeling of shock. It all mixed into a chaotic mess that made him want to cry out of pity for himself and despair. Did it really have to end this way? Sobbing under his breath and moaning out regret and fear, he still wanted to believe there was still hope. He wanted to ignore the obvious feeling of his body giving up and shutting down organ after organ.

He wanted to believe in something. It was at this moment that he wondered if there was a God. But maybe, he thought, it was too late even for that.

It was the plainest truth, and yet it felt evident only when all he could see was a starless sky, allowing the light to dissolve it - the light of the day he would never see. Couldn't he figure it out sooner? Was this karma?

If it was, Vincent had to conclude that his death was meaningless, much as his life without a purpose. 

That reminded him of Dominic. He was the last person that he remembered as he was about to leave this world: Dominic. Had he lived and died like this? Was this the kind of thoughts he had…?

 _My life was an unaccomplished one._ Of course, this was it.

Now it made complete sense. This was what he meant. He'd been terribly arrogant that time, just a few moments ago. Now he understood Dominic. The darkness of his truth. It applied perfectly to Vincent, too, like a curse. This nothingness had been heaped unto him by Dominic. It revealed what Vincent’s life had really been: a hoax, a mindless parade of stupid marionettes. It was cruel, but it was true.

Whatever would drag him out of this now? What even _could_ ? It was already too late, _too late._ Despite how much he prayed... his prayers were weak.

If this was a punishment, he accepted it. If this was nothing more than fate, so be it. He wasn’t scared or angry. Just miserable, and alone, without any hope.

His tears mixed with the colors of the dawn. The same dawn in which Dominic had died. His tears mixed with the colors of a neon sign of a hotel he’d never seen before. He could even read it: _Parade Hotel_ , a couple of letters flickering in and out of view, showing him sometimes a mockingly elusive word: _Paradise_.

Finally, those tears mixed with the nothingness he was regressing to. He knew he was a part of it, he knew this unfeeling hell was what awaited him now, where he belonged, and there was no escape from it. As he died, he felt like a doll that was thrown into a large heap of trash.


End file.
